The Whispering Wind (The Kingdom 0f Northumbria Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  He reined Windræs around and headed for the woodland that carpeted the valley behind him. It was time to make camp for the night. This was only the end of Aelfwyn’s first full day at Streonshalh; she still had four more nights to make up her mind. He would wait and be here should she decide to join him.

  Yet a part of him wondered if he waited in vain.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Confrontation

  Aelfwyn reached up and plucked an apple, before depositing it into her basket. She had climbed this tree to reach the fruit on the highest branches and found herself enjoying her task.

  For the first time since her arrival at Streonshalh, she felt at peace.

  Perhaps life here will suit me after all.

  Aelfwyn hummed to herself as she continued to pick apples. She carried a wicker basket slung around her neck to leave her hands free for climbing and picking. It was harvest time. Back in Rendlaesham, the orchards carpeting the hills outside the town would be brimming with ripe fruit.

  Sighing at the memory of how she and her sisters had played in the orchards—or hidden there when they risked a beating from their parents—Aelfwyn let her gaze travel across the jumble of thatched roofs. The orchard, filled with apple, pear, and sour plum trees, also functioned as a graveyard. Unlike common folk, who still burned their dead upon pyres in the manner of old, nuns and monks buried theirs. These graves were not like the barrows of kings—great hills that rose against the skyline—but small, neat mounds, marked by carved stones.

  On the way inside, Aelfwyn had spotted a handful of gravestones, the newest of which had belonged to a nun named Hereswith. She had the uneasy feeling that she had taken Hereswith’s sleeping pallet. No one had said as much, but her suspicions had more to do with what they did not say; the way the nuns sharing her hut averted their gazes every time they entered or left their dwelling.

  Aelfwyn’s gaze shifted to the roof of the church next to that of the great hall, rising high above the others.

  Unlike Lindisfarena, Streonshalh felt like a real community. Perhaps its proximity to the village, to the rest of the world, instead of sitting upon a lonely isle, made it feel so. Monks also resided here. A community of brown robed brothers, they attended evening prayers in the church with the nuns and worked alongside them at many tasks.

  Aelfwyn glanced down at her basket. Almost full, it was starting to grow heavy, pulling at the back of her neck. Time to empty it, for she should fill another before afternoon prayers.

  She climbed down from the tree, careful not to let any of her apples tumble. The tangy scent made her stomach growl, and she was tempted to help herself to an apple. The noon meal had been lean and supper was not for some time yet.

  She may have done just that, if someone was not waiting for her.

  A small figure swathed in an undyed homespun habit stood a few feet away. Aelfwyn’s gaze went to the nun’s face, and her brief lightness of mood dissipated.

  Elflaeda.

  The nun stood silently watching her with all the friendliness of a hawk circling a dormouse. Aelfwyn had hoped that the young woman’s coolness toward her would eventually thaw, but if anything her attitude had worsened. Aelfwyn had caught her glaring at her during mealtimes. Eflaeda watched her now, and the look on her face was venomous.

  “Wes þū hāl, Sister Elflaeda,” Aelfwyn greeted her with a hesitant smile. “How goes your afternoon.”

  Elflaeda’s pretty face twisted into a sneer. They were alone in the orchard, and the young woman clearly saw little point in keeping up pretenses.

  “It would improve greatly,” she began through gritted teeth. “If I did not have to share breathing space with a hōre.”

  Despite that she had not expected a friendly response, Aelfwyn flinched. Elflaeda’s foul language was at odds with her sweet, comely face and demure manner. Not knowing what to do, Aelfwyn clutched her basket to her breast. “Elflaeda,” she murmured. “I don’t know what you—”

  “Are you going to weave more lies, like you did with the abbess?” the nun cut in.

  Aelfwyn inhaled sharply. “I told Abbess Hilda the truth.”

  “Is that the best you can do?” Elflaeda’s mouth twisted. “You bleat like a witless sheep.”

  Aelfwyn stared at her. The girl had a sharp tongue. “Think what you want,” she replied, “but you were not at Bebbanburg. You do not know what happened, what your brother did.”

  “He is your king.” Elflaeda stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Name him as such.”

  Aelfwyn swallowed bile but held Elflaeda’s gaze. “King Ecgfrith raped me,” she said haltingly. “He waited until late, until his hall slumbered, and then he crept into my alcove. He took me by force and—”

  “Stop it,” Elflaeda hissed, her face turning pink. “I’ll not listen to your filth.”

  “You came here—you cornered me,” Aelfwyn countered. Her face had grown hot and tears stung her eyelids. This girl was a bully—and she was barring the way out of the orchard.

  “To get the truth from you,” Elflaeda countered, taking a threatening step toward her. “Not to listen to more falsehoods.”

  “I’ve told the truth.”

  Elflaeda drew herself up, and for a moment Aelfwyn thought the nun would lash out at her. “You’re a nithing,” she snarled. “A lowborn handmaid who thinks herself better than a king. Don’t think I’m a fool. I see what happened. You lured him into the furs and then wanted more than to be his lover. You demanded to be his queen, and when he refused, you ran away. Now, you’re determined to spread poison about him.”

  Aelfwyn grew still. The nun’s accusations wounded, but they were so far from the truth they were bordering on ludicrous.

  As if sensing a change in Aelfwyn, Elflaeda stepped back, her gaze narrowing. “So you won’t deny it?”

  Aelfwyn took in every detail of Elflaeda’s face. She did not look at all like her elder brother. Clutching her basket of apples to her breast like a shield she started to sidle past Elflaeda. “You know what he’s like,” she whispered. “Why do you defend him?”

  Elflaeda’s gaze narrowed. “Hwæt?”

  It was time to go. Aelfwyn’s stomach cramped, and her heart now thudded against her ribs. She hated confrontation at the best of times, but the young woman’s vicious words flayed her like boning knives.

  “I see it in your eyes,” Aelfwyn gasped the words before her courage deserted her. “You’re afraid of him.”

  Elflaeda flinched as if Aelfwyn had just slapped her. Her face was white, her eyes blazing, but she stepped back to let Aelfwyn pass. The nun did not say a word as she left.

  Over the next three days, Aelfwyn threw herself into life at Streonshalh. Her confrontation with Elflaeda had left her unsettled and upset. She lost her appetite and did not regain it till the following evening.

  The whole incident had left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Slowly Aelfwyn’s upset ebbed away. She tried her best to fit in with Streonshalh’s routines; rising with the first light of dawn in the morning and retiring to her pallet as soon as dusk settled over the clifftops. The clanging of the bell for prayers was a constant throughout the day, with meals and chores squeezed in-between. It was not so different from her life as a servant in a Great Hall; only here there was no king to fear.

  The sixth day of her new life arrived, and Aelfwyn awoke feeling melancholy.

  The evening before had been the last that Leofric would wait for her. It had come and gone and she was still here. He would wait no longer.

  Perhaps he had given up waiting days before.

  The thought made her feel strangely tearful.

  Dawn prayers seemed insufferably long that morning. It was a chill morning, almost cold enough for a frost to settle and a reminder that a long, dark winter lay ahead. What would life be like at Streonshalh during the bitter months? Would she regret coming here then?

  After prayers the nuns gathered with their brothers in the refectory and consumed a silent meal of
coarse bread and broth. What Aelfwyn would have given for some freshly churned butter and a boiled egg. Since arriving here her stomach growled constantly. Little wonder the nuns—Hilda included—were all lean without a spare inch of flesh. There was no risk of running to fat on such fare as this.

  After breaking her fast, Aelfwyn went out to help two of the monks with milking. A heard of goats grazed the pastures above Streonshalh. Hardy beasts with sleek brown and black coats, curved horns, and intelligent golden eyes, the goats were pleasant company.

  She sat milking one of them, her forehead pressed into its warm belly that smelled of meadow flowers and dry grass. As she worked, once again, her thoughts wandered to Leofric.

  Where was he now? She hoped he had managed to elude the king’s men.

  Her blood chilled at the reminder of Ecgfrith.

  She had not spoken to the abbess again of her fears. Hilda had made it clear that the king would never know she lived with them—that she would lie to him if necessary. Yet Aelfwyn did not feel safe. The Queen Mother was likely to make a trip to the abbey soon to see her daughter. Aelfwyn was putting Hilda in danger by remaining here.

  What if Elflaeda told her mother? Worse still, what if the king accompanied her?

  Aelfwyn squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on milking the goat. She focused on the rhythmic squeezing of its two teats as frothing milk filled the wooden pail before her.

  She had to stop worrying about the future. It was time she started living in the moment, or she would surely drive herself mad with fear.

  Chapter Twenty

  Elflaeda’s Penitence

  Aelfwyn emerged from the weaving shed, after an afternoon of spinning wool, and glanced up at the sky. It was the color of iron with low cloud blocking out the sun. Once noon had passed the day grew cold.

  A chill seeking wind blew in from the sea, buffeting the walls of Streonshalh. It whistled through the complex, sending up dust in Aelfwyn’s face. She bowed her head against it, drew close the homespun habit she had taken to wearing, and hurried across the courtyard.

  The wind whipped at her hair, which she had plaited into two braids, and freed a few strands. Aelfwyn pushed it out of her eyes, reminding herself that soon a veil would cover her head and shroud her hair from the world.

  She should enjoy the feel of the wind in her hair while it lasted.

  Supper was approaching, and the abbess had sent her to the kitchen to help the sisters working there. The savory aroma of stewing rabbit, onions, and turnip greeted her as she stepped inside the wooden annex attached to the back of the refectory. Aelfwyn’s mouth watered at the smell.

  Finally something other than overcooked pottage.

  Six nuns, their sleeves rolled back, their faces flushed, worked inside the smoky space. Some bent over worktables pummeling dough or chopping vegetables, while others worked over the large fire pit in the heart of the space, tending the cauldron of stew that bubbled there.

  One of them, a tall thin woman named Berta, looked up from kneading bread dough. “Good afternoon, Aelfwyn. What brings you to here?”

  Aelfwyn smiled at her; she liked Berta. The woman had around forty winters, and possessed a long, angular face and brown eyes full of warm humor. “The abbess sent me here to help.”

  “Not much left to do,” the nun replied, before glancing around her, “although we need some herbs gathered. The stew needs some flavoring.”

  Aelfwyn nodded. “Which ones?”

  “Thyme and sage.”

  Aelfwyn left the kitchen and made her way to the herb garden; a small plot edged with stone that sat to one side of the vegetable enclosure. The light was growing dim, the shadows lengthening—another sign that the evenings were drawing in.

  Aelfwyn looked up at the sky and felt a pang. Leofric was out there somewhere—she hoped he was well.

  The scent of woody herbs greeted her as she knelt by a growth of sage. She had just picked a handful and was reaching for a few sprigs of thyme when she heard the scuff of a sandal on dirt behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Elflaeda standing behind her.

  Aelfwyn tensed, her pulse quickening. She did not want to be cornered again but she could not let Elflaeda to continue to bully her.

  “What do you want?” she asked coldly. However, upon looking closer, she saw that Elflaeda wore a different expression to when she had faced her in the orchard. The look of belligerence was gone. The girl’s face was guarded, her gaze nervous.

  “I would speak with you a moment,” Elflaeda said, her voice trembling slightly.

  Aelfwyn plucked the sprigs of thyme and rose to her feet, facing Elflaeda. Something in the nun’s manner uneased her far more than the scorn of their last meeting. “What’s wrong?”

  Elflaeda brought her fine-boned hands together, as if in prayer, but instead wringing them together. “You were right,” she said finally, haltingly, as if each word pained her. “About my brother.”

  Aelfwyn watched her intently, waiting for Elflaeda to continue.

  “I am afraid of him. He wears a mask in public, one that few get to see beneath,” Elflaeda said softly, her gaze dipping earthward. “Only, as his younger sister, he did not bother to hide who he really was. I’m nothing to him.”

  Aelfwyn’s breathing stilled. She had sensed something in Elflaeda that day in the orchard, a brittleness that had lain just beneath her spite.

  “He didn’t use his fists to wound but his tongue,” Elflaeda pressed on, her gaze still downcast. “In front of our parents he was the dutiful son, but whenever we were alone, Ecgfrith would torment me. He told me I was fat, ugly and witless—repeatedly—wearing me down over many years. Part of the reason why I was so eager to come to Streonshalh was to escape him.”

  Aelfwyn loosed the breath she had been holding. “You know what he’s like, but you were prepared to think the worst of me all the same.”

  Elflaeda’s head snapped up, her dark eyes flashing. “He’s my brother.” Her eyes glittered, and she glanced around her as if afraid someone might overhear them. Then she stepped closer to Aelfwyn. “He’s coming—you must leave here.”

  Aelfwyn’s blood turned to ice. “Hwæt?”

  Elflaeda’s gaze met hers, and she saw the panic there, the regret. “When you first arrived here and I learned of your tale, I acted rashly. I sent a message with one of the fishermen from the village to Bebbanburg. The king will be on his way by royal barge now.”

  Aelfwyn stepped back from her, her fists clenching at her sides, crushing the herbs against her palms. Elflaeda stared back, stricken. “It was a mistake, I see that now—but at the time I thought he would think upon me more kindly if I helped him. May the lord strike me down for my foolishness.”

  Aelfwyn could barely hear her above the thundering of her own heart, the rasp of her panicked breathing. He was coming for her.

  “The king will be here by the morning,” Elflaeda concluded, her voice barely above a whisper. “You need to go now if you have any chance of escaping him.”

  Aelfwyn supposed she should feel grateful to Elflaeda for warning her. However, any words of thanks lodged in her throat. Did Elflaeda fully comprehend what she had done?

  “You have brought the king’s wrath down upon the abbess,” Aelfwyn struggled to get the words out. She was suddenly breathless with panic.

  Elflaeda shook her head. “Worry not, I will tell him that Hilda had no idea who you were.” She reached out a hand, her face pleading. “Give me those herbs and go now, before they lock the southern gate for the night. Please, Aelfwyn. You must run.”

  Blinking, Aelfwyn reached out and placed the crushed herbs into Elflaeda’s outstretched palms. Then she nodded.

  “I will tell the others you have a headache and have gone to your pallet early,” Elflaeda assured her. “No one will know till you’re well gone.”

  Aelfwyn nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely. Then she picked up her skirts and without a backward glance hurried
away, heading toward the southern gate.

  The wind was gusting, bringing spots of rain. It howled across the exposed hills above Streonshalh. It was a bleak evening; purple clouds rolled in overhead promising a night of rain, and the churning sea behind the abbey’s bristling outline was the color of pitch.

  Spots of rain spattered across Aelfwyn’s face as she slipped through the gap in the southern gate. There had been no time to collect any belongings. She was running out into the gloaming, into a gathering storm, with not even a cloak to cover her homespun tunic.

  Despair rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.

  Why couldn’t have Elflaeda told me this yesterday?

  The day before Leofric had still been here. He had given her five days—and she had wasted them. Now it was too late.

  Aelfwyn ran up the hill, her gaze focused on the southern horizon. The day before Leofric would have been waiting there, outlined against the stormy sky. This evening there was only a sea of waving grass.

  Something twisted deep in her chest. Regret, sadness—and self-recrimination.

  Idiot. Coward.

  She should have seen this coming. Of course Elflaeda would betray her.

  Aelfwyn was out of breath by the time she crested the hill, but she pushed herself on. She knew it was futile, but she would not throw away her one last chance at freedom. The light was fading and thunder rumbled in the distance. She needed to find shelter before the storm exploded overhead.

  Stumbling in haste, Aelfwyn ran down the hill toward a scattered copse of oaks. She sprinted toward the trees, panic giving her feet wings. It was difficult to see in the fading daylight. She had gone only a few paces into the copse when she tripped on a tree root.

  Aelfwyn sprawled across the ground. She let out a string of curses, a sob catching in her throat. This was hopeless. She was barely a furlong from the abbey, and she had already come to grief.